


Together

by mydogwatson



Series: The Postcard Tales [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mary hate, Post Season 3, trying to fix it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-29 00:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5110625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the tarmac scene, John is back at Baker Street.  But there is still the matter of his marriage to straighten out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together

**Author's Note:**

> This is posting a little late, as the day got away from me. It happens to be my birthday and one generally thanks people for gifts on this day. Well, I would like to thank all of you for reading and commenting and in so many cases loving all the Sherlock and John stories I have written. It means more than I can say.
> 
> I gave myself a gift by posting this little piece of Hate Mary fic. Because, why not?

The waiting was the worst part.

No, that was not correct, was it? The very worst part had actually been watching John confront the woman who was theoretically his wife. And who was [possibly even more theoretically] carrying his child. John, decent, patient John Watson, still hoped that something positive could be salvaged from the disaster that was his marriage.

He had tried to make it work and Sherlock thought it was working. Well, except for the collateral damage that was his heart. But no one, especially John, knew about that. Therefore, it was a surprise, when only three days after the painful scene on the tarmac, John turned up at Baker Street, a single duffle bag in hand. “So,” Sherlock said, aware of the thumping of his heart. “Moving back in?”

John had only nodded and taken his duffle upstairs. It was another twenty-four hours before the whole story came out. Mary had never shown a single sign of regret over anything she had done. Not the lies. Or risking the life of the child she was carrying by undertaking the assassination attempt of Magnussen. Even, or maybe especially, the shooting of Sherlock. Apparently, people were just supposed to accept that things happened and all she had to do was wrinkle her snub nose and all would be forgiven.

But it turned out that everyone has a limit, even John, and his was apparently an off-hand comment from Mary about how many more times bloody Sherlock Holmes would somehow escape death before he finally gave it up.

And so here they were on neutral territory, namely an otherwise deserted green space tucked away behind a parking garage. Sherlock stood back just a little, leaning against a Victorian lamp post, and scarcely even listening to the words being exchanged. Words about things like joint custody, amicable divorce. Only an idiot like John could believe that the woman he was talking to was simply going to nod and smile and say that yes, of course, they could sign the papers whenever it was convenient for John. Sherlock had been expecting shouting and swearing and maybe a slap or two. Shouldn’t she be just a little grateful that no one was talking prison, which was where she actually belonged?

Instead of drama, though, it was actually rather boring. Sherlock toyed with the notion of taking out his phone and checking for a message from Lestrade. Maybe there had been a good murder. John would like an exciting case after all of this, something that would let him run and curse and marvel at Sherlock’s brilliance. Then they could go for Chinese.

Maybe, after that, when they were back in 221B, Sherlock would find the courage to put his plan into action. He had no intention of losing John to anyone ever again and so was ready to confess the truth of his feelings. Unless his deductive skills were sadly diminished, he was expecting that John would be at least willing to listen. Hopefully, he would be accepting of that truth and so much more.

When he tuned back into the conversation, John was saying something about a paternity test. Mary stared at him for a long moment and then smirked. “Ignorance is bliss, John.”

Which was no surprise to Sherlock, although poor John seemed momentarily knocked back a bit.

What he was not really expecting, though, was for Morstan to pull a gun from the pocket of her stupid, ugly red coat and aim it towards him. Really? She was going to do that again? Then there was no more time to think. Her finger tightened on the trigger and at the last possible second, John jumped right in front of the shot.

He dropped like a stone. Sherlock felt the air rush out of his own body. Before he could even move, a car appeared out of nowhere, Mary slid into the passenger seat and, with one more bullet sent his direction, a poor shot for such a good a marksman, she was gone.

Everything after that was a bit of a blur, honestly.

For some reason, he called Mycroft instead of 999 and help arrived very quickly.

Now there was nothing to do but wait and he had been right the first time: This was definitely the worst part. Sherlock leaned forward a little and checked readings on the various machines that were monitoring John’s condition. The bullet the vengeful bitch had fired came very close to being fatal, but John was fighting. The doctors were very optimistic. Mycroft was close to tracing Morstan’s location and, judging by the expression on Mycroft’s face when he’d left the hospital earlier, Sherlock thought that she would be wishing prison were still an option very soon. The only question was, would she care enough about her unborn child, whoever the father was, to surrender?

Sherlock hoped so, because he knew that John would feel guilty otherwise.

After a moment, Sherlock carefully took one of John’s hands into both of his, squeezing just a little. “It’s all right, John,” he whispered. “I’m here. We’re together.”

*

**Author's Note:**

> Title from: Together by Norman Douglas


End file.
